Could you just go do it on a gravestone?
by dutchbuffy2305
Summary: Dawn's POV on Buffy and Spike's activities


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Could you please just go do it on a gravestone?

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Timeline: Somewhere in an imaginary season 7; Spike and Buffy are together

Spoilers: None

Summary: Dawn's POV 

Disclaimer: All character belong to ME etc.

Dawn really had to go upstairs now. She couldn't avoid it any longer. As silently as she could she padded up the stairs and went to her room. She unearthed her purse and went back again, head down, as if by avoiding to look at Buffy's door could avoid hearing what was going on. Still, in a flimsy modern house like this you could hardly not hear what someone else was doing in their room. In spite of herself she slowed down a little. No squicky sounds, no moaning, no endless rhythmic squeaking bedsprings, or the inexplicable banging and rattling that had driven Janice away last night, that could still be heard and felt through the whole house, even with the VCR at its loudest.

She just heard breathing. Harsh, heavy breathing, as if they were running a marathon inside. No other sounds. Just breathing, in out, in out, in out… What on earth were they doing now? Breathing in, breathing out, lungs pumping, ribcages going up and down, surely Spike didn't need to breathe, mouths open, eyes locked on each other…Dawn's brain made it's own movie to match the sounds.

She caught herself and practically ran down the stairs. She'd been so glad that Buffy and Spike were together again, but this sex education by sound and vibration alone was driving her crazy. 

Every day when she woke up they'd be awake already, and no matter how careful they were to muffle or stifle the moaning, it couldn't avoided. Beds make sounds, no matter how hard you try to be silent. 

At dinner they'd talk to her, politely, but not really seeing her, just each other. Spike's blue eyes would slide away from her and rest on Buffy, going over each inch of her, again and again, compulsively, as if she'd disappear if he didn't look thoroughly enough.

Down would reach for the ketchup, and she'd see his finger slide over the back of Buffy's hand, just a small touch, and then the hairs on Buffy's arm would stand up in goose bumps. Dawn could actually follow the path of the goose bumps, like the wave in a soccer stadium. Buffy would turn her head, and Dawn could see her skin heating up when she looked in Spike's eyes, could see her sister's pupils dilate, the tongue that surreptitiously wet her lips, the breathing that became a little faster.

She had really only been kissed the once, and even if that had been a vampire as well that didn't count. It had felt just like a real boy (she hoped), really nice, all warm and tingly, but actually just mostly in her mouth. There had been a tiny moment she'd felt something else, a little lick of flame in her belly, but before she'd had time to really experience it, so many violent and horrible tings had happened. She really didn't remember it well enough. 

So how was it that she now knew the signs of arousal like a lover? Her sister shifting on the seat, Spike adjusting his jeans – once she'd forgotten to look away quickly and her eyes had rested on the bulge in his black jeans. She really hadn't wanted to see that. Of course she'd seen pictures of naked men and dicks, and talked about it with Janice- not recently though, but she just didn't want to know! She was too young for this! She wanted to find out for herself, not live it second hand.

She'd even had had a crush on Spike; a major one actually, but then he hadn't been running around the house all the time clad only in a towel (every morning), barechested in jeans (if they were feeling hungry between bouts and needed food), or even just with his arms bare and his T-shirt so tight. They were so sloppy – once Buffy left the door of the bedroom open, and she'd been treated to muscular ivory buns, moving up and down, clenching and unclenching, Buffy's tanned legs in the air. She remembered thinking: legs in the air? I thought you'd just lay down on your back?

But now, a crush on Spike? It had just been a little girlish crush, with romantic thoughts, walking hand in hand in moonlight, candles, kisses…. The reality of all that maleness so close, all the bulgy muscles and hard planes, the grunting, the smell that wafted out of Buffy's bedroom…She was thoroughly de-crushed. Iit made her queasy to think of ever doing that with anyone. Anyone! Ever! It was so gross! 

She'd complained, in a jokey way; bought five different kinds of earplugs and expounded on their merits at breakfast; tried to sleep over a lot; but it didn't help.

What she really wanted to say was: Can you guys please just stop having sex, ever again? Or could you please just go do it on a gravestone or something? 


End file.
